


Emerald Feathers

by slytherab



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Creature Fic, Creature Harry Potter, Creature Tom Riddle, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Possessive Tom Riddle, This is not ABO, at least I don't think so, dub-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:21:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29879673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherab/pseuds/slytherab
Summary: Tom Riddle was curious to know who was the person who was stealing his clothes and also leaving emerald green feathers behind.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Comments: 6
Kudos: 150





	Emerald Feathers

The loud ring of the grandfather clock made Tom's head go up, distracting him from his reading. Rising from the comfortable dark leather chair, he stretched his body, enjoying the sound of bone noise from his spine. His _wings_ opened on their own, the _blood-red_ feathers dented from being pressed for long minutes. Sighing slightly, Tom waved his hand toward the half-drink cup of black tea on the coffee table, the tea had been cold for some time, the cup quickly disappearing to return to the kitchens.

His steps were calm as he walked towards his dark wooden closet looking for a robe to put on top of his casual outfit. It was just time for dinner and it was Hogwarts tradition for everyone to have dinner together, he, as the headmaster, certainly could not miss it. Opening the closet door, Tom frowned, he could have sworn one of his dark purple robes was on that hanger the day before. Thinking it might be a simple house-elf error, Tom rummaged on the hangers, his eyebrows just frowning when he noticed several of his clothes were missing.

There were at least three sets of robes missing, two of which were his favorites and he always wore them. It was not possible that the house-elves had been so foolish as to be missing several of their clothes. He leaned toward the closet, his among the clothes hanging as he rummaged. Tom tried to suppress his anger, it was stupid to be angry about it, after all, he could buy dozens and hundreds of clothes, but he was angry, those were his clothes.

Capturing a _colorful_ glow in the midst of dozens of dark robes, Tom thrust one of his hands into the middle of the closet, frowning when he noticed the softness of what he was touching. Pulling his arm back towards him, Tom's eyes widened minutely when he noticed what his hand was holding.

Between his fingers were a _feather_ , but it wasn't a feather of his own that maybe he could have lost it in his wardrobe. That feather had an incredibly beautiful shade of emerald green, unlike anything Tom had ever seen. He was so fascinated by the pity that his movements were poorly controlled while he grabbed any garment from the closet and put it on, closing the wooden door with his heel.

He threw himself in the same chair where he was before, placing his wings on his back so that he didn't bother him. Tom vaguely remembered having to go to dinner in the Great Hall, but who could really blame him for _that?_

He twirled the emerald green feather between his fingers, almost mesmerized by the beautiful color and the softness. And the smell, so different, in all his years of life he had never met anyone who smelled so unique and good. None of his followers, their families, or Hogwarts students had wings of that color, and Tom also knew that none of them would have the courage to defy his orders to never take their things to use as nests. He knew that as a leader, it would be common for others to seek things that had his scent, they were his instincts after all, but Tom liked to have his things just for him. He didn't like to share, and he certainly wouldn't want to have his clothes used for coziness.

So, no, whoever was stealing his clothes were not one of his. He couldn't blame whoever he was, he was the strongest of his people and his scent would surely attract many suitors, but Tom was not rational when it came to his _possessions._

He wanted to know who the thief was and punish him, clearly an outsider who shouldn't have known his explicit rules, but that wouldn't stop him from punishing him. Tom got up from his bed, adjusting his robes, his mind spinning with plans to catch the emerald feather thief. Taking advantage of the pocket on his upper body, he placed the feather on his chest, the beautiful tone of the feather _contrasting_ perfectly with his dark robes. It smelled good and Tom wanted it close.

It was complicated, Tom could just kill the thief like he would have done with anyone else if he had gone against his rules. But there was something, perhaps the peculiar smell or color, that was preventing him from simply hunting and killing the thief. It was the easiest way really, but maybe sometimes he liked something more difficult.

Whoever was entering their rooms was doing it when Tom was distracted or out. And not by the door, and since the spring days were much warmer, Tom was almost always with the window open. But during the day any of the people on the ground would surely see a person coming in through a window, especially when the color of their wings was so revealing. Yes, the person was probably coming in the night, taking advantage of Tom's lack of movement, of the dark and deep sleep.

With his mind spinning with possibilities, Tom kept the feather in the top pocket of his robes.

* * *

The other night, Tom was waiting for _him._ He pretended to sleep, his breathing calm and his eyes closed. But he already knew that someone was coming, so he was prepared, his senses were prepared to be able to _'see'._ It was a few hours before he felt someone approaching, subtly entering through his open window. The footsteps were quiet, probably bare feet, just the sweet, attractive smell showing Tom that someone was there. It was the same incredibly good smell he had felt in the feather, but much strong.

He felt the person's presence near his closet, it was so subtle that he couldn't even hear any noise. There was a moment of silence before he heard a small squeak, nothing that could have woken him up if he were really asleep. He could feel slow movements, sometimes some small sounds of contentment from the person rummaging in his closet. Minutes passed in silence before he could feel the person moving again.

When he felt the person's presence leave his room moments later, Tom stood calmly but with agility, and walked with silent steps to his open window, the curtains moving in the wind. He saw the figure flying a few meters ahead, with his vision adapted to the dark, he realized that the person was actually a _boy_ , not yet a man. He took a deep breath, the wind in his direction helping so that he could smell the sweet smell that showed that the boy was really in the breeding season. Mixed with the boy's personal scent, there was a mixture of old wood, sweets and wet grass.

Tom wanted nothing more than to grab that boy and take him back to his room, but he knew that was not the best option. He had to wait until the boy's breeding season was at its peak and thus, he would have the boy begging for him. Clenching his hands in fists to try to avoid the excitement he felt forming at the base of his stomach, Tom stood in silence and watched as the boy maneuvered his wings wide open to support his weight.

He waited until the boy was a few meters ahead before jumping too and following him in the _air_. His great blood-red wings turned burgundy in the dark as he circled the air. Tom followed the boy to a place near the edge of the castle, it was a heap of large, tight trees, close to a mountain, causing him to become remote from civilization. He stopped in midair when he saw the boy bend down and enter the middle of the big branches of a tree. Taking advantage of the boy's lack of attention, he landed in a nearby place.

Tom watched him from his vantage point on top of one of the big trees. His wings were closed against his body, to prevent his scent from spreading in the region. The boy was beautiful, almost like an _angel fallen_ from heaven. He had dark, messy hair, his handsome features, and his emerald green eyes that always seemed to be wide open. But the most impressive thing about the boy was his wings, barely bigger than half Tom's wings. The feathers varied between emerald green and jade green, a perfect contrast to his incredible eyes. They were certainly the _most beautiful wings_ Tom had ever seen.

He watched in silence as the boy fixed his nest, it was small, between the crown of a big tree, its dense leaves probably keeping it warm and protected from possible attacks. Tom noticed that several of his robes were scattered there, one of his favorite black silk robes being used as a pillow. There were also things he hadn't noticed that were missing, like one of the curtains in one of the living rooms, a Victorian rug from his office and what could only be one of his sheets that were changed weekly by the house-elves.

He was curious, and a _little irritated_ , at the ease with which the boy had entered and left Hogwarts as if none of the castle's wards prevented him. He doubted that the boy had been taught to fold powerful protections.

Seeing the boy's features, Tom had no doubt who his parents were. The boy was a perfect _mix_ of Lily and James Potter, and those wings, so beautiful, he had only seen in one person. He well remembered that Dumbledore had said that the boy was dead, but there, after sixteen years, the boy was in front of him, stealing his clothes and belongings to build a nest. He was very much alive after all. So that could only mean that the old man had _lied_ to Tom, he shouldn't have been surprised.

His eyes wandered to the old, ugly clothes that the boy, _probably Potter_ , wore, and also the way they hung from his clearly very thin body. Potter was clearly hungry for hunger, and a small part of Tom was _happy_ to hear that, it meant that the boy had suffered, and he deserved it for running from him. He was curious to know where the boy had spent all these years, but he was sure he would know over time.

He sighed louder than he intended when he saw the boy grab one of his robes and bring it to his nose, the movement leaving a tantalizing sample of pale skin. Tom couldn't help but notice that he seemed to be delighted by his scent. The noise it caused made the boy's head turn quickly, so fast that Tom could hear the cracking of the bone. The boy looked up, his _green irises_ hunting for any possible predator, his wings spreading in all their glory, the image almost making Tom lose his concentration.

By the time the boy was about to look where he was, Tom had already moved, his wings making no sound as he flew away.

* * *

Tom's face was expressionless as he entered through the opening of the cells. The castle's dungeons were muffled and gloomy, the damp ceilings leaving the air cold and moldy on the stone walls. Everything would be silent if it weren't for the prisoners' occasional moans of pain. It was a terrible place, and that was why it was perfect.

But that didn't stop Tom from smiling, a cold smile that made his guards behind him shudder with fear. His smile was totally directed at the person in front of him.

Albus Dumbledore was nothing more than an _empty shell_ of his former self. Years without receiving a single beam of sunlight, the man's skin was gray and lifeless, lying loosely under his bones. An ugly and badly healed scar cut into his left eye, leaving him blind on one side. His hair and beard, once white but well-kept, were badly cut and thin, in various regions dirty with what could only be dried blood.

But the worst of all was his back, because where before they had big and beautiful wings with yellow feathers, there were only two deformed stumps. The piece of bone was broken wrong, protruding from the old man's back irregularly. The cut had not been made because the skin just didn't want it, he wanted Dumbledore to always miss his wings, he wanted those protruding bones to prevent the man from sleeping on his back. The beautiful yellow wings had been burned in front of Tom's subjects, showing the unshakable power he possessed.

Tom couldn't help the bubbly laugh that grew in his throat. It was hilarious to see the man that many said was the most powerful of all time so destroyed, so dead. He _spread_ his big wings, the beautiful blood-red fuzz perfectly matching his well-made robes of the same color. The tips of his wings folded almost entirely, the cell where the man was standing was so small that he could not even open the entire eight meters of his wings.

"Hello, Dumbledore." He purred.

The man's head hung stupidly against his chest from where he was leaning against the cold wall. His dirty hair covered part of his bony face, but somehow the old man seemed to have the strength to be able to lift his face to face him. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse and weak. Tom knew with certainty that the man's throat ached with the effort. "What do you want, Tom?"

Riddle raised his eyebrows, not at all surprised by the man's rude tone. The old man had long since lost his friendly tone and was so much like a grandfather in his voice. Laughing softly, he stepped forward until he was closer to the prisoner, his nose twitching with the smell of urine and dirt. "So rude, Albus, I thought we had a friendship, after all, you were one of my teachers."

Dumbledore's face contorted, probably in disgust or pain, Tom could not identify. "This will always be my biggest regret." The old man murmured, his weak voice showing sadness and regret.

Tom scoffed, he had not become what he was today because of that man's teachings. He had only achieved everything he ever wanted, which was always made for him, because of his own willpower and intelligence. "I found a cute _little bird_ today." He said, his pretentious voice showing the man that there was a lot more behind those words than he was showing.

Dumbledore just stared at him in silence, his chest heaving. Riddle sighed exaggeratedly. "His wings were a curious shade of _emerald green_." At that moment one of the eyes that the man still had widened, his knees forcing himself on the floor to try to get up. "I thought you would like to know, after all we both knew a _person_ with that same tone of wings so well."

 _"T-tom, please ..."_ The old man pleaded, his voice choked.

Riddle raised an eyebrow. "He was making a nest, so _ignorant_ as to steal my clothes." He appreciated the way Dumbledore _crawled_ towards him, his stained robes getting even more dirty on the floor of the dungeon. A triumphant smile was on his lips when the old man _grabbed_ the hem of his robes with thin, weak hands.

" _Please_ , Tom, he's just a _kid_ -" A sick cough made him stop. The man coughed, one hand against his mouth causing it to get blood on it. Riddle's mouth twitched in disgust at the sight, the red feathers on his wings rising. "D-don't kill him, p-please."

" _Kill?_ I never said I would kill him, Dumbledore." Tom closed his wings, preparing to leave. "No, I will make he _mine_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm ... what do you think of that?
> 
> The color of Harry's wings was inspired by the bird Tangara étincelant, while Tom's wings were inspired by the bird silver-beaked tanager.
> 
> English is not my first language, so there may be some grammatical errors. Help is always welcome.


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